* * * *
Upon passing the shoe ad he’d posed for, Ben’s euphoria recalling sexual memories gave way to reality. He knew if he wanted to sell sporty footwear, soda, cars, or candy bars, he could never get with any of the men he fantasized about. Not until his Olympic career was over for sure, in another four or eight years. Hookups could happen. Maybe. Possibly. But even if they did, Ben knew he would end up depressed afterward. Screwing in the dark, hiding, that wasn’t really what he wanted. He wanted a boyfriend. He wanted to say, “I love you,” and hold hands with someone at the closing ceremonies. He wanted to hold hands with someone other than Kat, because she should be holding hands with Tanya, he thought. 12
Hey, Ben,
I have a major question I need to ask of you—a real life-changer. I’ve been trying to approach the subject for a while.
Reservations.
Cold feet.
Chickenshit.